The Road to Hell (Is Paved With Suppositions)
by silver tears85
Summary: Sam is pining and pining hard for an archangel who's doing the same. Castiel is pining, Dean is repressing, and our boys are going to annihilate themselves one way or another, so why can't Sam have some fun along the way? Or perhaps that wasn't what Castiel meant. Sabriel, hinted Destiel. Angst with a hopeful ending.


Sam hates himself.

Really, really hates himself.

There aren't even synonyms for hate to describe how much he hates himself.

Hates how he loses himself in the best possible way with the name of a dead angel on his lips. An angel he should have no desire for at all.

Let alone love for.

The word is a slap in the face to his psyche.

He finds himself praying to him, not formally, but then that's not how most prayers are, is it? Cas told them thoughts found their intended destination, whether the sender knew what that destination was or not.

The chill that went through his spine when Cas revealed that angels could hear longing could have staved off global warming. Or began the next ice age. The world's benefited off their pain for entirely too long.

He drives his fist into the arms of the chair. He's sitting facing the door in despair, whilst his brother is in another hotel room with something pretty wrapped around him, and an even prettier angel flying somewhere overhead, wishing it were him.

"I always come when you call, Dean."

Yet he doesn't show the same courtesy for Sam

An ominous _woosh_ sounds that speaks of finality.

Oops.

He takes a sip of his-fifth, sixth, does it matter?- beer.

Castiel, in all his angelic glory stands before him, with a face of pure pity that hurts worse than any acidic assertion he could've spit out. Hell, literal acid would have hurt less.

"Perhaps," He speaks slowly, so slowly, so angry but not just at Sam. "I don't come because your prayers aren't aimed at me, now are they?"

And no, Sam supposes. They aren't.

A righteous sigh from the righteous being.

"He never died. You know that. His favorite pastime is cheating death." There's something there, something fond and disapproving before he goes back to his severe Angel husk.

"But you also know he'll never come to you first. You know you have to make the first move. And you know he'd come the second you did."

Sam doesn't move, doesn't breathe and Cas goes on.

"Mindless prayers don't mean anything. They aren't the same as being let in, and if you don't tell him, if you don't consciously and wholeheartedly try to reach him, he will never come. Because having the key is not the same as being let in. And as long as you let it, it will fester, because he has worse self esteem and trust issues than you do. He'll brush it off, say you only want him for his body and his power or better yet pretend nothing has happened at all. Pretend that he isn't the only thought that chases away your nightmares. Pretend that this thing between you two could be anything else than what it is. Love."

Sam shakes his head, only to be frightened into stillness by the way Cas'-no, Castiel's-eyes flash. They lose their edge soon, and show only exhaustion.

"You Winchesters and your need to be miserable. I'll never understand it." And suddenly he sees his anger for what it really is: deep, bottomless concern.

And fear.

Cas is afraid that the Winchesters will one day _completely_ destroy themselves, and it won't be the fault of the family business.

It'll be subsequent of their own masochistic tendencies, the one thing Cas can never save them from.

There'll be bottles involved, Sam knows Cas is thinking it.

Cas is completely petrified of the day that he appears in yet another run down hotel room and sees them both lifeless and cold, their bodies, which could no longer discern the difference between "alcohol" and "life's blood" suddenly done in by that very substance.

Or worse. The day that he claws his way back into heaven tooth and nail and blood he has no right to give, to retrieve the two…. And receiving only a stoic "No" for his troubles.

And he supposes they've earned that fear.

Cas has watched many movies, studied mankind every chance he has gotten, picked up what seems to be all the wrong things, but he knows that this is the part where he says something so amazing, mind blowing and yet simple, that convinces Sam to pursue...whatever it is that he has with Gabriel. And maybe an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

But..Cas lacks the wisdom, the insight, the humanity. Has ever since he became an angel again.

And for the most part, he doesn't miss it. Humans are soft, weak bugs so easily squashed and he can't say he misses being one.

But times like this almost make him, if only so that he would once know what to say.

But he doesn't know what to say, so he just stares at down at Sam like he's a misbehaved child headed down the road to disaster]er and Sam just looks the part and then, he leaves.

Sam drinks a bit of vodka before he deems himself drunk enough to do what he's about to do.

"Hey Gabriel, it's me."

Sam supposes he's a fool.


End file.
